


SOS

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto suffers long-distance heat.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 20
Kudos: 218





	SOS

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Heat _sucks_ , especially when he’s alone, but Prompto knows he hitched his cart to a prize stallion that he can’t just call up every little time he needs something. Sure, he feels like he’s _dying_ without Noctis’ touch, and all he can think about is Noctis’ hands all over his body, but Noctis is _the crown prince of Lucis_ and has better things to do than pet a shivering omega. Prompto almost picks up the phone a dozen times, but every time, he reminds himself that he loves Noctis too much to do that. He has to respect Noctis’ position. He has to put the rest of the country first. 

He still throws his head back against the couch and whines so loud that his neighbours are probably rolling their eyes. It’s a good thing his parents aren’t home, as usual. He really needs to move out. He’s too old—his heats are too bad. He wants to move in with Noctis. He wants to chain himself to Noctis’ bed and never, ever leave. He crushes the heel of his palm against the bulge in his pants and tells himself to stop being hard for five seconds. 

It doesn’t work, of course. That’s not how heat works. He’ll be hard for hours, if not days—maybe a whole week if his alpha doesn’t soothe him. Maybe after Noctis’ event, he can at least call Ignis and schedule an appointment. Just a quick thirty-minute rapid fuck-a-thon in the middle of royal duties. At the moment, all he can settle for is seeing his gorgeous boyfriend on TV. The news is covering the gala, and Prompto keeps getting snippets of Noctis dressed up in a snazzy suit. Noctis looks damn good in a suit. He also looks great in sweat pants and Ignis’ hand-me-downs. And in boxers. _And naked._ His dick is awesome, and Prompto wants it in his mouth _so bad_ —

The hostess with the microphone mentions Noctis’ name, and Prompto tries to clear his foggy brain enough to listen. _“We’ve just had it confirmed that the prince left the gala some twenty minutes ago, but the Crown assures us that he’ll be back shortly to support the Edea foundation once the banquet starts...”_ She gets abruptly distracted by Councilor Basch walking past and sweeps off to try and nab an interview. Prompto doesn’t care about any of the councilors. He just cares about his gorgeous, sexy, huge-donged prince who apparently won’t be on the screen for a bit, which is a tragedy. Prompto fumbles over the side of the couch for the shelf where his phone is. He’s never been allowed to take nudes, but he does have plenty of pictures of Noctis he can still jerk off to. He’ll just have to find one that doesn’t also have a chocobo or Gladio or something else guilt-inducing in it. Like the one of the two of them at the water park where Noctis’ trunks had glued to his thighs and his not-totally-limp dick. 

Prompto’s fingertips brush the phone, and then somebody knocks on the front door, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Frozen still, Prompto starts sweating—he can’t answer the door in his condition. He can barely think straight, let alone walk without tripping over his own too feet. And he’s only wearing the black shit Noctis accidentally left at his house after they went thrift-shopping for shits and giggles. Noctis had left in a plaid button-up, and Prompto had secretly kept the shirt he’d arrived in, because it still smells like Noctis and Prompto’s a totally perv when it comes to his prince. 

The knock sounds again, louder and firmer—the force of an alpha. Instincts take over. Prompto whimpers and pushes unsteadily up to his feet. He walks there in a daze, hoping whoever’s on the other side brought dildos. He has his own dildos, but he could always use more. He’d like a big, fancy black one, because Noctis’ favourite colour is black.

Except it’s Noctis on the other side of the door—the real Noctis, not a cute picture of him with a black dildo. Prompto’s too shocked to speak. Noctis smiles: dizzyingly beautiful.

Prompto somehow manages: “I... I thought you were at the gala...”

“I was,” Noctis says, “until I started sensing my omega was in distress.”

“But...”

“You want me to go?”

“I wanna choke on your dick.”

Noctis snorts and leans in to peck his cheek. Prompto practically swoons. He lets Noctis back him into the hallway, lock the door, and the two of them make for the bedroom like the world’s going to end if they don’t get laid _now._


End file.
